The Meeting

Sometimes, this was all a person could ask of an early fall weekend. The sun was warm on her skin, the sounds of one of the last festivals of the year drowning out the thoughts that had been consuming her for too long. As she sat alone, far from the hustle and bustle of the main tent, she was trying to work up courage and strength that she had convinced herself resided somewhere inside of her. For too long, she had spent her life being told what to think, how to act, how to feel. This was Marti’s time to shine. She felt liberated after spending a decade in a marriage that she had known before the vows wouldn’t last. She had convinced herself that her husband would change, that he would be more loving after they were man and wife. She quickly realized that was only a dream, but by then she felt trapped.

She found the courage to leave and be on her own for the first time in her life. She had traveled a bit, found new hobbies, was working on finding social circles she could be a part of, but something was missing. As dysfunctional as her marriage had been, she missed the closeness of having someone there. She wanted to have someone to talk to, possibly curl up on the couch with and read together, watch TV, or simply turn down the lights and turn up the music and lay there. She hadn’t had this in her marriage, and this time she would settle for nothing less. Once she walked through that gate, a man who, at least on the surface, appeared to have most of the qualities she wanted would be waiting for her. “I will be to the left of the stage. I’ll be the one standing alone looking desperately for someone to talk to.” She was thinking back to their conversation last night.

Was she really about to do this? Was she going to take this leap? She could feel a lump in her throat, it was hard to breathe, her stomach doing summersaults. She stood up to walk in and immediately sat back down. “I can’t do this,” she said aloud. She focused on the Irish folk music resonating through the park. It momentarily calmed her. As she stood up again, determined to walk inside, she felt her knees shaking, her hands were clammy. She felt weak, emotionally fragile. What if he saw through the façade she was able to put up whenever they spoke on the phone? “Come on, Marti, one foot in front of the other. Today is your day.” she said, trying to reassure herself everything would be okay.

Every step closer to the yellow and white tent, she could feel the knot in her stomach getting larger. She knew that she was finally doing something for herself, attempting to ensure her own happiness, why was this so difficult? Why did she feel consumed with fear? The music grew louder, the pleasant melodies reverberating from the violin, time kept perfectly by the drummer. She started to ease a bit as she focused on the music. She allowed her mind to drift away to a Irish dance performance she had attended years earlier. It was one of her fondest memories. By the time she walked into the shade provided by the tent, she was at peace, now excited rather than petrified.